


Maison Adrienne

by harryinacorset (tasteofoxidation)



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: M/M, Other, Tailor AU, Tailor Lafayette
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:55:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26459797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tasteofoxidation/pseuds/harryinacorset
Summary: Lafayette owns a high end Tailors shop. He's married to George Washington. He employs Alexander as his own apprentice
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton/George Washington, Alexander Hamilton/Gilbert du Motier Marquis de Lafayette, Alexander Hamilton/Gilbert du Motier Marquis de Lafayette/George Washington, Gilbert du Motier Marquis de Lafayette/George Washington
Comments: 16
Kudos: 41





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> You can safely assume all the characters in this are based on the broadway obc cast with the exception of Peggy Shippen and John Andrè who i've snatched from Turn because they're super cute and seem like they could be high flyers in the fashion industry. 
> 
> None of them are mine, theatrically or otherwise.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It had been a labour of love at the start, but wasn't everything good? He himself had moved to New York from France at 25 years old."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well hi there. 
> 
> After four and something years in love with Hamilton I decided it's time to start writing. This is the most inspired i've been by an idea in a long time and i'm actually fairly impressed with how this first chapter turned out. 
> 
> There's no posting schedule, but I'm gonna leave this here for a week and see what response it gets while I write a bunch more. I have the first four chapters planned out and some subsequent plot lines. 
> 
> I'll definitely add more tags as I go, it's rated now for future chapters and of course the relationships involved. 
> 
> This is entirely unbeta'd and written for the most part at 1am on a sunday night and i'm supposed to be working right now. 
> 
> If you would like to volunteer to be someone who would beta this story for me (because boy I am aware of some of my flaws and inconsistencies) going foward, or if you would like to help with the french language or "american-isms," I beg you, hit me up either here or on tumblr (tasteofoxidation.) Cheerleaders are always welcome too.

He was greeted with a series of sleepy grunts walking into the office this morning, his staff never took kindly to the 4am starts when they happened. 

_"It's not necessary."_

_"We're not a bakery."_

Anyone would think he was asking them to do it everyday. In reality, these starts were rare, the staff got paid extra for unsociable hours (anything before 8am,) they could leave early if the work was done, and if they were still in the shop any later than 12, they would be paid time and a half in overtime. There was that, and his logic behind the early starts was sound. 

They happened on days when his most prestigious clients were coming to collect an order, the clients he knew would notice a single stitch out of place, a frayed strand of cotton, the tiniest details. Ordinarily, in his shop, those things were extremely uncommon but there was always the possibility for error. Those clients had an agreement with him to pick up at 2pm. On those mornings, the staff came in at 4; that way if anything was wrong, out of place, not perfect in any way by the time they had worked the full day, they had 2 hours to fix it. 2 hours to a good tailor is what 24 hours is to a butterfly without a mate and his shop was full of good tailors. 

He greeted them all individually, careful not to be too loud as he could have a tendency to be according to his half asleep staff at the ungodly hour. They all had thier set pieces in hand already, mannequins were dressed and half dressed, magnifiers in hand despite the fact that thier eyes were still bleary. He had done so well to find staff this wonderful. Which is why finding a young apprentice to add to it was proving difficult. But he needed a new one. 

Hercules, who seemed to be waiting for him at his station, his most recent apprentice, was now fully fledged and ready to fly and it was bound to happen soon. Lafayette almost didn't want it to. It's why he had offered him a full time position after his apprenticeship until he found something solid. He had taught Hercules everything he knew and then watched as he had found his own little quirks and style along the way. He was unbearably proud and the thought of him flying the nest made his heart clench, but simultaneously vibrate with excitement. Lafayette would watch him become even better than him. More successful. He was already more creative, even bolder. He would reach unscalable heights and hopefully, he wouldn’t look back once. 

"Good Morning, Hercules." He crooned, with a white smile. 

"What do you have for me?" He asked. Despite the sleep-drooped eyes, he could see the glimpse of pride in the others eyes. Lafayette flicked on some lights in the area as he moved around it and made his way back to Hercules who held out a shirt and it's matching jacket. Lafayette had seen it before, of course, he kept a close eye on the progress of all the pieces being created, whether they were his designs or not. If they were to be displayed in his shop they would be of the highest standard, and he set that standard. 

"They're finished." Hercules told him, his voice sleep rough, even rougher than normal. 

Lafayette raised an eyebrow, smile widening into a grin. He took the shirt first, fingers running over the fabric as he removed it from the hanger and placed it on the mannequin. It was white and double pinstriped, one stripe blue, the other silver-grey, running vertical on all but the pocket and the cuff, small red crescent moons had been hand stitched into the fabric - scattered to the untrained eye but Lafayette could see the order - it wasn't a shirt meant to be tucked in and it fell beautifully against the mannequin. Lafayette checked every button. Closed his eyes to run his fingers across the stitches. The collar, the cuffs, the pocket. It was difficult to keep a straight face as he moved to take the jacket from Hercules.

The jacket was baby blue and the most conventional thing about it were the two pockets on either side that sat on the waist. Double pinstriped again, a much lighter shade of blue than the jacket itself, but here the stripes of the pockets lined up perfectly with the rest. That was where the normality ended. The sleeves were short and loose, falling just before the elbow, letting the shirt sleeves do the rest of the work to the wrist. It buttoned like a shirt, 5 pale faux-ivory buttons, the topmost stopped just half underneath the folded lapel. At the base of the chest pocket was a larger, still handstitched version of the crescent moon, running through the shirt, but a small cat sat on its tip, tail curled around for balance. 

Lafayette was methodical with this too as he checked it. He wanted to burst. It was beautiful. 100% Hercules in its design. He'd allowed him free reign on this design for a reason. 

"Bottoms?" Lafayette asked. 

"Need a little more work, I need an hour." Hercules had purposely kept the bottoms away from him, saying they were a surprise but Lafayette would love them.

Lafayette had the smallest prick of anxiety about that before. But the last 10 minutes had unpicked that stitch. He strode across the room in 3 easy steps, grasped Hercules's face in both hands and kissed each cheek. 

"Parfait. Parfait." He allowed the grin to burst forth. Split his face like the sun parting clouds. He felt Hercules heat up marginally in the cheeks, eyes showing no sign of that lingering sleep from just a moment ago.

"Thanks, Boss." Hercules mumbled. 

Lafayette placed the jacket and the shirt back on the hangers, reverent with the fabric as he always was, and handed them back. 

"I'm curious about those bottoms, Hercules, hurry."

Hercules smiled, something mischievious behind it, he nodded and moved back to his station. 

Lafayettes contribution to this summer catalog was done. It was hung in the back, bagged, ready for collection, slightly more conventional than what he had just had his hands on but nothing too simple. He was quite proud of it. In the same way he was proud of everything his shop created, and the shop itself. 

It had been a labour of love at the start, but wasn't everything good? He himself had moved to New York from France at 25 years old. The French up until that point had barely let him be more than an apprentice, despite his receiving praise for his designs from various high end sources. They were old men, stuck in thier ways, unwilling to let someone young and fresh take over for fear of looking outdated and being replaced. Lafayette smiled to himself as his laptop booted up. It had happened anyway. By that point he had already met his George, who had been whispering in his ear for months. Talking him up and out of France, and into New York; where he would make himself the envy of France, where $20,000 an hour corporate lawyers wouldn't be seen dead in a suit that wasn't Maison Adrienne. Where he would marry George the moment it was legal, and still be deliriously happy with his life 10 years after leaving his homeland. 

They told him he would regret it. It had even caused arguments with his best friend, Adrienne. His naming the shop after her had been his way of an apology for leaving her, against hers and everyone elses wishes. She called him when he had first sent her a photo of the shop front, her name emblazoned in gold lettering in the window, voice wracked with sobs, Lafayette saying nothing until he asked 'do you like it?' Ever so softly. She cried harder. Adrienne had her own modelling career now, her confidence seeming to rocket as she started to find her name in clothing even there in France. The first time she had come to visit him in New York had been a complete surprise, Lafayette believing that she didn't have the money to get there anytime soon, he'd been the one crying uncontrollably.

His laptop pinged with emails. A couple of bespoke clothing requests, one interesting enough that he would keep it, the others he fired over to the staff member it suited. There were a couple of designs to be approved for current and future projects, he sent back yeses, constructive critisism, and 'let me help you with this, come see me' where necessary. He rarely said no. The rest were hits on the apprenticeship listing on the website. Some queries, a few resumès. One particular resumè caught his eye. The frown settled at the top of his nose as he lowered his face to the screen of the laptop to look a little closer, concentrate a little harder.

Alexander Hamilton. 

Interesting.

"Found a good one?" Hercules' voice cut through blanket of intrigue that had settled over him. 

"Possibly." He nodded, reading over a particular line a couple of times before he lifted his gaze. When he focussed, spotting what Hercules was holding, the illusive trousers he had been waiting for, the frown dissolved into a brilliant smile. Eyebrows raised so his forehead crinkled slightly.

He took the pants, glancing up at Hercules as he did. 

"You were not wrong." 

Hercules schooled his expression.  
Shorts. Of couse. He should have expected no less from the brilliant younger man. They would fall just above the knee, loose around the thigh like the jacket was around the arms, the pinstripes would line up perfectly, there were no pockets at the sides, just one at the back on the left, that same moon and cat embroidered there at the base. The small Maison Adrienne logo adorned the right leg in the inch wide hem. 

"Incroyable." He muttered to himself softly, nodding, as his fingers passed over every inch of the material. 

He gave them back to Hercules, pride written over his features.

"Hang it all together and put it on the rail. It's ready to go." Hercules allowed himself a giddy, loud laugh as he walked back to his own station. 

Lafayette switched back to the CV on his screen, not thinking much longer before pulling up a reply and extending the offer of an interview.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will be like this one, but Alex. These first four chapters will flip between Laf and Alex pov respectively. 
> 
> Speaking of cheerleaders, I promise you, nice comments, constructive critisism, and things you might want to see in the future, are the internet equivillent of shaking pom poms and doing the splits. 
> 
> Let me know.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "One thing he hadn't looked at in his research was thier actual shop, the clothes they sold, the prices. Looking now gave him heartburn. $750 for a shirt. $1,750 for a jacket. $70 for a pair of socks. God knows what people paid for a full bespoke suit with all the trimmings."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I say a week before the next update? I meant a day....
> 
> This chapter is Alex as I said it would be. My reasoning with the writing of this is that I want Alexs chapters to feel chaotic in comparison to Lafayettes. Y'know because it's... Alexander Hamilton and his mind is a mess.
> 
> I hope you like it!

The vibrate of his phone jolted him awake. Ever the light sleeper unless he was so bone tired that his brain physically couldn't function anymore. He hadn't reached that point yet and he knew he wouldn't for a while. 

He pushed himself up on his hands, securing an elbow under his chest to grab out in the dark and snatch his phone to check the notification. Email, if he had the vibrate pattern right. 

**From:** glafayette@MATailorNY.com  
**To:** A.Ham57@g-mail.com  
**Subject:** RE: Application for Apprentice Tailor Position

Dear Mr Hamilton, 

Thank you for your interest in the position of Apprentice Tailor here at Maison Adrienne. Your resumè makes you stand out as a person we would be very happy to employ and therefore we would like to arrange an interview in order to get to know you a little better. 

Should you be available at short notice, we have a timeslot today at 3:30pm. 

If this is not suitable, please respond to this email to arrange a time and date that works for you.

Sincerely,

**Gilbert De Lafayette**  
**Managing Director**

No point in waiting. His head was already starting to fill up, he may as well reply. He'd done more than enough research on the business, and it's owner - particularly it's owner. If he was asked and had to say it outloud, it was purely research for the possibility of the interview. If he was being honest, he had seen a photograph of the man and was completely incapable of not going fishing for more. He found himself praying the interview wouldn't be with the man himself. The wordsmith Alexander Hamilton may, for the first time in his 25 years, find himself devoid of all words. The next best thing would be the guy being a total dick. 

It wasn't hard to glean that the man was french, if his name didn't say enough. That could be a play for Alexander. French was his language too, after all. Mr. Lafayette sounded, even to ears well adjusted to the English language like his, alien and, quite frankly, disgusting, so he hoped the 'Monsieur' would score at least one extra brownie point. He made a mental note here to call John at a decent hour to ask if he had one of his rich boy suits hidden in the back of his closet. If he was to interview at the most prestigious tailor in New York, he had to look the part, and Johns past could make that happen. 

**To:** glafayette@MATailorNY.com  
**From:** A.Ham57@g-mail.com  
**Subject:** RE: Application for Apprentice Tailor Position

Good morning, Monsieur Lafayette,

I'd like to thank you for your prompt response, and for your offer of an interview. I am, in fact, available for your appointment today and so, I take pleasure in accepting your offer. 

If you could provide me with any relevant information and a list of anything I may need to bring, it would be much appreciated.

Kind Regards,

A. Hamilton

He dropped the phone, it immediately disappeared in the sheets, pulled his arm out from underneath himself so he flopped back down into the pillow, eyes closed in the hope that he could maybe get an extra hour or two. He breathed deeply, and squeezed his eyes shut and did his best not to squirm but it was no use. There was a coil of anxiety in his gut already, possible interview questions running through his head and a litany of ways he could respond. He was awake. 

He didn't have to be happy about that, he hoped not to see the light of day until at least 8 this morning, but he could be okay with the chance of a new job - apprenticeship - that was, all things considered, spectacularly well paid. It wasn't quite as well paid as his last job but he could maintain most of the same lifestyle which was, instinctively, somewhat frugal. He was so used to losing everything, stashing and hoarding was second nature. 

Luckily, he still had a little bit of time before he ran out of savings completely, unless he got hit by a bus tomorrow, which... one might never know... but his point was, if this job didn't come through, he had time and he was sure there would be other offers. The Tailors felt like the best option though, outside of what he actually wanted to do which probably wasn't going to happen again for at least a few years. Another mental reminder that that was his own fault. 

He had done the whole tailor thing before, admittedly he had been incredibly young, and the tools he used were either archaic or rudimentary, but he still remembered the basics, the process; creative and practical. He could hand sew - that remained ingrained in his memory - and often did when it was unjustifiable to buy new clothes. And he could think of nothing more appealing than a man or a woman in a well made suit. He figured, having a hand in dressing said men and women could at least give him the illusion of feeling happy with his work. 

He worked through his morning rigmarole; the mirror told him the bags under his eyes would be Gucci by the time he left for his interview, another score on the tally in favour of him getting this job, the coffee in his kitchen was shocking as always, but it was too early for any decent coffee shop to be open just yet, so he would have to settle. He dug out his phone from in his bed to find there was another email. 

**From:** glafayette@MATailorNY.com  
**To:** A.Ham57@g-mail.com  
**Subject:** RE: Application for Apprentice Tailor Position

Dear Mr Hamilton,

Please find attached a pack with all the relevant information. 

You will not need to bring anything along at this stage.

We look forward to seeing you today,

Sincerely,

**Gilbert De Lafayette**  
**Managing Director**

The pack was nothing he hadn't read online the previous night. Some history into the shop and it's owner, a meet the team section with names and small blurb of each persons role and specialty, the job role, the outcome should he see it through to the end. It was three years. Maybe then he could go back without being shunned and rejected by everyone. Maybe then he will have found happiness in being a tailor.  
He hated all the floundering. Spinning like a broken compass. A boat unmoored without an anchor on a breezeless sea. A car without an engine. He had never been without direction this badly since his mom died, he hadn't felt so helpless and hopeless. He just needed... something.

He booted up his laptop. One thing he hadn't looked at in his research was thier actual shop, the clothes they sold, the prices. Looking now gave him heartburn. $750 for a shirt. $1,750 for a jacket. $70 for a pair of socks. God knows what people paid for a full bespoke suit with all the trimmings. Alexanders eyes watered. His bank account could never. This was the reason they could afford to pay well, he assumed. He supposed if he got the job he might come to understand the price tag more. 

At 8am he packed up his laptop and headed out to the closest coffee shop, camped out there with 3 cups of, what he assumed to the baristas was, treacle, or as he called it: Americano with more espresso shots than strictly healthy. There he stayed until John responded to his _"u up?"_ text, with a curt _"what do u want?"_

Alex might have been offended but they were way past that.  
John opened the door with bed-toussled hair, half lidded eyes, and nothing but his underwear covering his body. 

"I need to borrow a suit." Alexander pulled his hair from the tie, that was starting to feel like it was wrapped around his whole head, as he stepped inside. John pressed against him in a hug he interpreted somewhere between hello and if I went back to bed right will you promise to hold me the whole time. Alex felt that and pressed back. 

"Coffee, first?" John rasped into the crook of his neck.

Alex hummed his approval.

At 2pm, John started digging in the part of his wardrobe that was always hidden by a wall, having to actually step inside and fight his way through to reach the suits Alex wanted. 

"Just how expensive are they?" Alex asked, fidgetting, perched on the end of Johns bed. 

"You can't put them in the laundry if you spill coffee on them, put it that way." John reappeared with a handful of hangers, grinning.  
Alexanders stomach turned.

"Relax," John tugged a strand of his hair, "it's a job interview, not a night on the town... so, which one?" 

His hand plucked the khaki green two piece, a white shirt, the tie just darker than the suit itself pinstriped with the suit colour. 

He put it on with a care he'd never taken with his own wardrobe. John giggled the whole time.

"It won't bite you, Alex." 

He felt rudiculous. He looked ridiculous. Out of place. A stranger in his own skin. If this is what it took to work at a tailors, he didn't want the job. (But he kind of did.)

John also had his back with expensive cologne, pulled his hair back into his signature ponytail, not quite as tight as Alexander might have done it, and hugged him good luck, to sharp _don't wrinkle me_ protests before he left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will be the interview. 
> 
> Comments and Kudos break down writers block 12 bricks at a time.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Please, Gilbert, or Lafayette, we'll keep this as informal as possible."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Imagine if I carried on updating this quickly, how great would that be!?
> 
> Anyway, here's the interview. I suppose it's kind of mundane and boring, but I think it's kinda cute...
> 
> Again, unbeta'd, though I do go through and edit my mistakes when I spot them.

The handover had gone well. Of course, it always did when Miss Shippen was involved. A lot of people thought Peggy to be high maintenance, and almost impossible to please. Those same people tended to watch in awe whenever they saw her around Lafayette. She was soft, giggly and flirtatious, fine fingers reaching out and grasping at him often, even more often, pulling gently on the curls tied up at the back of his head. He allowed it, he flirted back, he grasped her face in his hands and spoke of wanting such cheekbones that could cut glass. She turned a pretty pink. It was the little things that kept her placid. 

That, and the fact that his shops work was always flawless. It wasn't boasting, not when it was true. Peggy agreed too, verbally. Loudly. Her gasp upon seeing Hercules's creation was particularly impressive. 

"Ah, that, I cannot take credit for, all of that came from Hercules." He grinned "I taught him well, non?" 

She side eyed him from the clothes rail. 

"Be careful, Gilbert," she was so careful to pronounce his name correctly, "I may have to start poaching your staff. So much talent all in one shop." 

He didn't have a response to that, only to hum and duck his head to hide the small smile. 

"You have outdone yourself this time." She smiled. Zipping up the last bag and signalling for the rail to be wheeled off for transit. 

"You say that every time, Miss Shippen."

"And every time, I mean it."

She left traces of lipstick across his cheek, ever so slightly covering a few strands of his stubble in red, the scent of her perfume lingered on his suit for a little while after she left. It made him smile, almost sure she did it on purpose. He knew full well there were lipsticks available that didn't rub off with a little light wear and tear, but if it made her happy, even though she knew she didn't have a hope with him, he'd play along, and enjoy it and the benefits, until he could no longer thread a needle. 

He had an hour to prepare before the interview. Time enough to clean up his own area a little where he had placed some fabrics trying to decide on one for a new fall line. He fussed over some of the others areas a little too, straightening things out, putting stray needles in thier right places. He didn't mind the place just a little messy as long as guests weren't over. It felt lived in that way. It felt comfortable in the way he wanted it to. But for an interview it was best to set an example. He made himself a cup of espresso, admittedly the early start had begun to slow his brain down marginally by this point. He texts George to let him know why he's not on his way home just yet. He prints off the interview questions, Alexanders CV, grabs himself a new notebook and sits down to ponder what he already knows about this young man. 

He's 25, just a little younger than Hercules was when he started, majored in Political Sciences with a minor in Journalism. What stole Lafayettes attention in the first place was that Alex wasn't long out of college when he found himself an entry level job at a small political magazine publication in the city. He worked his way up until, by the end of his three years there, he was assisting the editor in chief and had a regular column in the magazine. 

Lafayette can't bring himself to believe anyone would walk away from that for anything. That should have been his dream job given his college education, Lafayette couldn't say he wasn't curious about it. He knew, as a rule of thumb, people who went into politics, and political journalism had a tendency to be hyper-passionate about it, and they were in it for life. He may not get involved too often, but his husband was the editor in chief of another, somewhat larger, publication in the city, and Lafayette was certain he had a firm grasp on the type of people George, and his colleagues are. 

Lafayette wasn't perturbed by that at all. He would ask, as was standard, why he had left his job, however, the decision as to whether was offered the position or not would be purely merit. He wanted his apprentices schooled to at least a basic extent, simple maths was necessary and he preferred correct spelling and grammar when emails were being exchanged with clients, but he was no judge. He looked for the people who could thrive in his shop around his people and he already knew Alexander would get along just fine with Hercules.

Alexander also mentioned in his cover letter, previous, if a little limited, experience of tailoring. Selfish as it may sound, Lafayette does not want anyone with too much experience in the field. An interest in fashion could possibly be helpful, but already halfway trained by another tailor? That made him uncomfortable. He was willing to learn from his students when they found thier own feet in his shop, but other tailors were not in the same league of excellence as he. Helping an apprentice unlearn sloppy tricks and shortcuts was not his business. 

The train of thought were halted there with the soft ring of the doorbell. He had locked the door so that there was no chance of stray customers who preferred to ignore 'Closed' signs wandering in.

"You must be Alexandre?" Lafayette, smiled, opening the door fully to allow him in. He seemed to need a second to gain his composure, his voice audibly catching in his throat. 

"Uh yes, and you are Monsieur Lafayette," Alex offered a hand. Lafayette took it, an eyebrow raised.

"Please, Gilbert, or Lafayette, we'll keep this as informal as possible." He motioned Alexander to follow him, carrying on as he lead them downstairs. 

"Your french sounds very well practiced, Alexandre."  
"Yes, I was - I was raised trilingual." Lafayette noticed that crack in his voice again. "English, French and Spanish." 

Lafayette held open the door, watched as Alexander walked down the last few steps, noting his suit, a good fit, but the suit wasn't his own. He'd managed to pick a good colour, he appreciated that it wasn't black, it showed more than a little courage. 

"Impressive." He let the door close and carried on to his work space at the end of the room, gestured to a chair, and moved to his own. 

Lafayette couldn't help the small laugh that left him watching Alexander sit down. 

"You do not wear suits often, no?" He asked when Alexander looked panicked at his outburst. Alexanders face marginally changed shade, he winced. 

"No, or at least not anything this expensive - it's worth more than I am." He looked like he was kicking himself for opening his mouth, but Lafayette was more than okay with it, let him know with a grin.

"If you were to get this apprenticeship, Alexandre, quite early on in your time here you will spend time in the shop upstairs. Up there, no member of staff is seen without wearing one of our own suits, will that be a problem for you?"

"I'm... adaptable." Another wince.

"It will help when the suits fit you properly, and you wear them instead of them wearing you." There was something quite lovely in the way Alexander squirmed and pulled the jacket in a little tighter. 

"Forgive me," Lafayette tried to appease, hands waving, he leaned back in his chair, "it is a mere force of habit, I started learning my craft at ten years old. It has been a long time." 

Alexander nodded. 

"I... I did this when I was ten years old too," Alexander cleared his throat, and Lafayette nodded, a prompt for him to continue. 

"I come from the Caribbean - Nevis - we needed money so I went out and found ways I could help, my mom had already taught me how to sew and the tailor said I had the hands for it so he let me work a little, he let me do basic things, I watched the rest. I stayed there until..." he paused, looking down at his hands briefly, "I was twelve."

"So you know your way around a tailors workshop?" 

Alexander scoffed.

"A lot has probably changed." 

"You might be suprised," Lafayette smiled, "it is an old business. So, what about your politics, your journalism, you were working for a magazine, were you not?" 

Alexander visibly stiffened, his shoulders rose, his fingers tugged at each other. Lafayette felt another wince coming on. 

"I won't lie, I messed up. I say almost everything I think outloud, the line between my personal and work life was so blurred it was indistinguishable, and I published something personal that hurt a lot of the people I care about. They didn't fire me. Technically it didn't hurt the magazine. But I wasn't wanted there anymore. So I left."

Lafayette considered it for a short moment.

"Thank you, Alexandre, for your honesty." Alexander nodded, with a tense, tight lipped smile.

"Maybe doing something with your hands other than typing for a while will be - how you say - cathartic? Non?" 

"Maybe." He tried. He didn't sound completely convinced, but there was a spark of hope ignited in his eyes at that moment. 

Lafayette kept Alexander for another half hour. He asked what he knew and liked about Maison Adrienne. That particular question seemed to relax him as though he knew he could answer without digging himself a grave. He answered well, above and beyond what Lafayette was expecting. He asked if Alexander had any fashion knowledge at all, what he thought a day in the life of Lafayette looked like, how he copes with deadlines, how he would deal with difficult face to face customer interactions, was an infrequent 4am start a problem and could he work late if necessary.

Alexander was frank and honest with every answer, when the glaring anxiety was given chance to settle he was actually quite charming. Lafayette appreciated and enjoyed all of those things.

"I have one more question for you, Alexandre," He said, bringing a more serious tone to the interview than he had thus far. "And I have to ask it, because I can see it has crossed your mind too, you are a smart man."

Alexander nodded, swallowing and bowing his head like he knew what was coming. 

"To give you this job would be a risk, non? This is not where you want to be, this is not your passion, and three years is a long time to invest in something that you do not love. I have no politics to offer you, I have very little journalism to offer you, we get by on quality and word of mouth. Why do I take the risk?"

Alexander looked to his left, into the large room and at all the workstations. Lafayette could almost see the thoughts. 

"I told you about my time in Nevis, even then, so young, my mind was hyperactive, I never switched off. But the two years I worked there, I was never - I was happy, then. Even though I was working at ten years old, I was happy, and the shop did that. I can't tell you what it was about it but you would be giving me the chance to rediscover it. I started writing because it was the only thing I could do at the worst time of my life, I got educated here because people took notice of what I wrote and wanted to see me do well, I wanted to make my mom proud." 

He took a long, trembling breath. 

"Everything I have in my life has been a gift from others. My life, and the actions I have taken, have all been based on survival, disaster after disaster. All I have ever known is my thoughts and opinions and that's all anyone ever wanted of me after a certain point. I have never known passion. But I remember how it felt to be happy. Maybe that was passion, I don't know. But i'd like to find out."

Lafayette smiled softly. 

"Parfait." He got to his feet, stepping around the table to a now standing Alexander, took his face between both hands and kissed both cheeks. There were not many things of France that he truly missed, but this contact, this ice breaker was one of them, and he used it when ever he was able.  
Alexander went pink to the tips of his ears.

"Thank you for coming today, Alexandre, it has been wonderful to meet you, and I will be in contact soon." Lafayette grinned. 

"Let me show you out." He gestured again in the direction that they came, up the stairs, only when they reached the door Alexander spoke again. 

"Thank you for the opportunity, Lafayette, it's been a pleasure." 

Lafayette locked the door behind him and started to get ready to go home, reviewing the interview in his head. 

He would discuss it with George.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sure i'm not spoiling anything here when I say the next chapter will be Alexs first day/week (i'm not sure yet) as an apprentice tailor. I'm pretty sure, within the next two chapters, a small piece of Alexs past will come back to haunt him, because we need a little drama already. 
> 
> Comments, ConsCrit and Kudos are rewarded with more chapters.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It wasn't his world yet, he was a stranger. An alien in a foreign land."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. Slight change of plan from what I said at the end of the last chapter. I like flip-flopping between Alex and Laf POVs and I know at least one of you wanted to see the conversation between George and Lafayette about Alex, so I didnt want to go too far in this chapter because I don't want to write the same things from both POVs all the time. 
> 
> Does that make sense?
> 
> So I suppose this is kinda filler-y. And the next chapter kinda will be too, but you'll meet George, and then we can start getting into it like... deep.

Alexander groaned. One day he may learn to turn off the notification sounds on his phone while he sleeps but he hadn't managed it yet. He felt like he'd a few more hours sleep than normal, it wouldn't be surprising given how much he and John had drank between the two of them the previous night, that, and sleeping next to someone always helped him sleep better. John was a sleep cuddler too. 

Which explained why he was half blanketed by something warmer and heavier than him. He would never complain. 

He reached over John, trying to grab his phone without disturbing him too much. Alex managed to pull his shoulder out from under him with nothing more than a sleepy grumble, but he was clinging onto a pillow a mere second later. 

Alex checked his email, his stomach turning over when he saw who it was from. It had been three days. A perfectly normal amount of time to wait, people waited longer than that, yet Alexander had spent the last two days attached to his emails, hence why he'd had his phone replaced by a drink the night before by an ear fatigued John. 

He took a breath and held it.

 **From:** glafayette@MATailorNY.com  
**To:** A.Ham57@g-mail.com  
**Subject:** Apprentice Tailor Position

Dear Mr Hamilton,

It was wonderful to meet you for your interview last week. 

After some careful deliberation, it gives me great pleasure to be able to offer you the role of Apprentice Tailor here at Maison Adrienne. 

You will find attached a letter outlining your offer in full including start date and salary, please sign and send back to accept the offer. 

Should you wish to decline or discuss anything dissatisfactory, you are welcome to call, or respond to this email.

I look forward to your response,

Sincerely,

**Gilbert De Lafayette**  
**Managing Director**

"Oh shit." He finally exhaled, dropped back into the pillows. He lay silent for a while, almost numb, barely even thinking, succumbed to his pounding, dehydrated head. Then John shifted; 

"You're thinking too loud, shut up." He croaked. 

"I got it." Alexander said, emotionless. 

A huff.

"What?" 

"I got it. The tailor. I start Monday, well, when I sign the letter and send it back." He dropped his head to the side to look at John, who rubbed his eyes, pushed hair out of his face and blinked at him.

"We need coffee, ibuprofen, and pancakes. In that order." John almost smiled, but the hangover said no. 

Alexander covered his eyes with his arm and let John get up first to put the plan into motion, there was grunting and groaning, the slide of a drawer, a rustle of clothing and then something soft landed on his belly. The breath rushed out of his nose.

"Dick." He threw after John as he shuffled out of the room and down the hall. 

By the time he made it into the kitchen, the coffee was already set out in cups on the small table, John had already half drank one, and the other sat next to two ibuprofen as promised. Alex sipped gratefully, leaning against the worktop, John methodically working through a recipie on his phone. 

Alexs brain finally started to function after the second cup of coffee, and two pancakes. Quite frankly, the pancakes only added to the nausea, but he needed to eat for fear of feeling worse. It was times like this he was glad of a friend as good as John, who knew him well enough to not say a word. Yet.

That didn't stop him from being acutely aware of John staring at him, a small smirk fixed over his features. 

"You're allowed to be happy about it, you know?" 

Alex stared back mouth, open just a little, words failing him.

"You meant what you said in that interview, Alexander, i'd say it was one of the truest things that ever came out of your mouth, and so help me if you try to tell me you can't work for him because he's hot." 

"He's not just hot, John, he's good. I don't think he knows how to be a - actually, since when do you call me Alexander?" His voice rose an octave and John giggled. 

"Since I turned into your mother or something, seriously, sign the letter and send it back!" 

"I hope you know that when it turns out I can't use a sewing machine to save my life, i've actually been colourblind this whole time and i'm madly in love with my boss who doesn't return my feelings, it's you i'm coming after." Alexander snatched his phone up, imposed an image of his handwritten signature (a very handy thing to have stored on any device for moments like these,) onto the letter and tapped out a quick email of gratitudes and acceptance. 

He passed the phone over to John before he pressed send. 

"You press it. Seal the deal. And remember this moment."

John shoved the last of his pancake into his mouth, and hit send with syrup sticky fingers.

"Thank me later, baby," he slid the phone back as he got up from the table, "come on, you need to try the rest of these suits on and see which ones make your ass look good."

"You ruined your own life, Hamilton." Alex mumbled around a mouthful of pancake, but followed John anyway. 

He stayed with John for rest of Friday, where he was coerced into having a celebratory drinks, also known as a bottle of average priced wine each. Alex did actually find himself celebrating too, despite his doubts and fears. 

He untangled himself from John early on Saturday morning, careful not to wake him, dressed quietly, picked up the suits that John had left out for him to use his first week and headed home. 

The rest of the weekend somehow passed by quickly, considering he had slept a grand total of an hour and forty five minutes over the 48 hour period. It was a wonder he hadn't given himeself a stomach ulcer with all the stress. He debated going back to stay with John on Sunday, knowing he would be almost guaranteed at least half a good nights sleep, which only spread on another layer of anxiety. Just because John was the only friend he had left now didn't mean that he was Johns only friend. John still had everyone. Alexanders whole world up until a few months ago. That was all Johns now. 

He tried to sleep. Really, he did. He didn't even pick his phone up to scroll through and comment on some of his favourite (and least favourite) blogs and forums, which is what he was usually doing when he wasn't sleeping. He lay in bed, closed his eyes and waited for sleep to come. Tried every possible sleeping position. The sad thing; he wasn't even thinking anymore, he wasn't worrying or panicking or trying to talk himself out of anything. He was just awake and overtired. 

After the small amount of sleep he managed, he got up and slowly started to get ready for the day. He drank two cups of too strong coffee, pulled together everything he needed to take with him and packed it into a messenger bag, showered, sat naked staring off into space on the edge of his bed and then dressed, as gingerly as he had for his interview, wondering if he would ever get used to wearing this kind of price tag. He had time to find out. 

He set off early enough to stop at a coffee shop on the way, even to sit in. He didn't miss the looks that the royal blue suit earned him but he would have to process that another day. 

"Good Morning, Alexandre." Lafayette greeted him softly, with a warm smile, stepping aside to allow him in.

"Welcome to the next three years of your life, oui?"

Alex could hear how much more meaning there was behind that statement and the almost playful way it was delivered. The weight of it settled in his stomach. The notion that he promised Lafayette in his interview that he would commit to this. That he wasn't just biding time until he could get back to his precious politics and his infernal writings. Lafayette made an investment in him, and while the same could be said for being hired for any job, the man had made it clear that Alexander would be a risk, it wasn't implied or said behind closed doors where Alexander would never find out if it was decided there was someone better, it was said to him. Some part of what he had said to Lafayette had hit the mark. So Alexander was here. The first day of the next three years of his life, and Lafayette was ready to cash in, every damn day. 

He had two options and a split second to decide. He could continue to hurt himself and mourn for the world that he had lost, the only one he'd ever known since landing in New York. Or he could start again, and build another. Eliza always told him his ability to create and destroy was both awesome and terrifying. With the options laid out so simply, the rapid fire decision forcing him out of the mindset of debate, the answer seemed so clear and simple. He had to rebuild. 

It wasn't his world yet, he was a stranger. An alien in a foreign land. But Lafayette offered him shelter and a chance to learn the culture and Alex had done this so many times before, by now he was an architect. Maison Adrienne was a blank piece of paper and today he he started to sketch his vision.

Alex took a deep breath and returned Lafayettes smile. 

"Let's go."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments, ConsCrit and Kudos are life/fuel. 
> 
> Laf and George up soon.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He is not my boy, I am not mouthy, and I am a fantastic tailor."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I told you the updates wouldn't always come thick and fast and alas this chapter did stump me for a while. Would you believe me if I told you I beat the block on the day my family made headline news in our local area?
> 
> It's true. (Nothing sinister, and all sorted (sort of))
> 
> So here's Laf and George being husbands, a teeny glimpse into Lafs past and something of a dive into his brain. A slightly shorter chapter, but we can get into some fun stuff soon. Please tell me if you enjoy it (or not.) 
> 
> Be sure to read the notes at the end. I need a little input.

"Gil, is that you?" He heard from the direction of the office as he stepped in the house. 

He shut the door, hung his coat on the stand and walked through to the office on the right. 

"It's me." He leaned against the doorframe, and George looked up and over his glasses.

"How was your interview?" 

In the time it took for George to take off his glasses, shut his laptop, make his way across the room and kiss Lafayette on the forehead, Lafayettes mouth opened and closed 8 times, 4 words got stuck in his throat and he settled on a deep frown. 

"You like him." George smiled and Lafayettes frown deepened further, "I made dinner, let's talk about it."

When it came to matters of his business, Lafayette had always been a little slower with his choices. It was a default for him to be impulsive, he made up his mind on the spot and once he had done that, there was no stopping him. It didn't matter whose rules he was breaking or what expectations would be shattered. He had quit studying law and politics, to the dismay of most of his family, to pursue fashion; that had been the first time. He'd been 19 and very nearly dead inside. From being a child he woke in the morning and was immediately ready to go, but it started to gradually seep out of him, as though he was being drained of his life force while he slept. He stopped dressing to make a statement everyday and instead threw on sweatpants and a tshirt. He hated himself. From there he promised himself he never would again, and that meant making decisions for him and no one else. As long as it came from the heart, he didn't care what it took.

Opening Maison Adrienne, however, required something a little less reckless. A little more tact. The decisions he made were final once they were made, but it took him just a little longer to actually make them. Staff had always been one of the most important decisions for him and as a result, the slowest. To create a culture that was entirely opposite from those he had seen in the industry in France. Fashion was cutthroat and volatile at the best of times therefore his staff needed to not be that. He needed hard-working, dependable, punctual, all of the usual list employers gave, but more than that he wanted, nay, needed, his staff to be the found family of his own favourite fanfiction. 

Despite Lafayettes obvious frustration, he followed George into the kitchen and they fell into and easy rhythm. George pulling whatever foil covered delight he had prepared out of the oven, and him heading for the wine. 

"White or red?" He asked. 

"Red. Lasagne." 

Lafayette stopped in his tracks, looked over his shoulder, face a picture of sincerity;

"I love you."

George laughed, loud and uninhibited. 

Lafayette relayed the interview to George, little that he didn't remember of it. George listened intently, not speaking a word, unless he was asking a question or affirming he had understood, until he had finished. His brow was furrowed by the end of it.

"What did you say his name was?" George asked.

"Hamilton," a small frown appeared between the frenchmans eyes when he caught the flicker of recognition that passed over Georges features. 

"You know what he did." It was a statement more than a question.

"I read it, yes, and it makes perfect sense that he got out of there. I can find it, if you want."

Lafayette help up a hand before George even finished the sentence. 

"Not from you. If he wants me to know, he will tell me himself." 

"So, he's got the job then?" A smile threatened to break over Georges features. 

"I didn't say th-" He was cut off by George laughing.

"This is the first interview that you have come home and told me about since Hercules." George pushed his empty plate away to rest his arms on the table and lean a little closer. 

"Come to think of it, I can't think of one name that you have mentioned to me that isn't now one of the people on your staff, are you telling me that is going to change, now?" 

"It might." Lafayette could feel the pout tugging at his bottom lip as he spoke. It was all fun and games when he was reading George to filth on a matter he didn't want to accept, but when the tables were turned, it was infuriating. 

"You like him. He fits." 

"That is not the point, George. He is not a tailor. He has no interest in fashion. He was wearing someone elses suit... Merde..." Lafayette stopped, as did his waving fork, a look on his face that said he just found his way out. 

"He cannot come to our dinner parties." The fork clattered down on his plate, he shrugged as though whatever his thought was, was so obvious it was staring him in the face. There was a long silence, he and George staring at each other, something of a challenge between them. 

"I'll humour you, go on." George sat back, folded his arms across his chest. 

"If you know who he is, he certainly knows who you are, so, what? I bring him to our home and lose my apprentice and my husband in one night? Mon Dieu!"

Georges laugh filled the kitchen.

"Are you trying to tell me he's attractive too?" 

"I'm trying to tell you he is perfect in so many ways, but he would rather work for you than for me." There was pain in his eyes. 

George softened.

"I have no intentions of poaching your boy, Gil, and what was it he said? He only writes because it's all he's ever been known for? That means he's mouthy, knows his way around a keyboard, and has a firm grasp on the English and French language. I'm sure I know another great tailor with a very similar skillset."

Another pregnant pause. 

"He is not my boy, I am not mouthy, and I am a fantastic tailor."

"The kid needs a job, Gil. Give him a chance." Georges smile was barely contained. 

"I'll think about it." 

George took it upon himself to ask everyday, seemingly invested invested in the future of Alexander Hamilton, also probably just to rub Lafayette up the wrong way with the opportunity to playfully gloat. Lafayette made a point of either deflecting the question, or shaking his head and leaving it at that. George never pushed further. 

In all fairness, George had been right in a sense. Lafayette had made up his mind the moment he decided to tell George about Alexander. George has so much on his own plate with his own work that Lafayette will not burden him with his too - he knows about the exciting moments and the frustrating moments, and that works both ways, the two at the top of thier respective games, distinction was as necessary as support - but Lafayettes fears were not unfounded in this case.

He didn't think three days was a long time to make sure he had the right frame of mind to finally gamble on something other than his life; his business. He deserved that. As did all his staff at Maison Adrienne. All of them would invest time and effort into Alexander, they would welcome him in and make him feel at home and allow him to rebuild there. To have to accept that Alexander may throw that away in a month, six months, a year, even if he got through the entire three years, there was still the possibility he would just leave to go back to politics. Three days was barely a heartbeat. 

Yet still, he found himself nagged at, by something other than his husband, to give Alexander a chance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all; look me in the eyes and tell me a modern Lafayette, whether he has a look of Daveed Diggs with his hair tied back or not, would not read fanfiction. 
> 
> I wanted to make clear, that the twists and turns in this story from here on out, bar the developing relationship between Laf, George and Alex, will the the ghost of Alexs past come to haunt him.
> 
> And my question to you guys is; whilst the relationship develops and it will always be endgame, do you want it to be plain sailing-ish, or do you want it to cause problems... mostly for Laf and George as a married couple...?? 
> 
> You can comment here, or message me on tumblr (tasteofoxidation,) it's huuugely welcome and appreciated.


End file.
